


The Way They Talk

by TheColorBlue



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU where Finn is on the spectrum, Autism Spectrum, Gen, Stimming, Stormtrooper Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColorBlue/pseuds/TheColorBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really short study of AU Finn where he's on the autism spectrum.<br/>There's a lot of study of Finn not fitting into "normal life out there" outside of the First Order. Which got me thinking.</p><p>Or:<br/><i>Finn never really fit in, even within the First Order.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way They Talk

Finn’s heard Stormtroopers mocked as bucketheads by Resistance fighters, but he thinks to himself: even among the others. FN-2187 didn’t fit in the way he was supposed to. Troopers had social activities, to strengthen unit solidarity. They wore their helmets off then. Finn liked his helmet off, but he didn’t like being around the other Troopers when everyone was just sitting around, talking about topics that he had no interest in. They talked to talk. To one-up each other. Talk going around the rumor mill. Crass chatter. 

FN-2187 had liked to talk, but in the context of being useful. He knew what to do then. He knew his function. He liked helping Slip. Or leading his squad through an exercise. Everything precise, the steps running through his mind. He liked when he had something to do that could show his ability, and that could help his squad. 

They all got older and FN-2187 had an inkling: there was something that he was missing.

Even amongst this group he had known his entire life, there was something that he was missing. 

Nines mocked him one day, called him a complete droid. That was it, wasn’t that right? He was like one of the antique units that did the most routine maintenance: all the familiar, eccentric patterns. 

FN-2187 sat on the edge of his bunk, running his thumbs over the curves of his helmet. The motion was soothing. He could have done it for a long time. Watching the light glint off the curves just so. The smooth of the helmet under his thumbs. Soothing. But Nines was watching and FN-2187 just put his helmet back on. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. 

When FN-2187 had been younger, he had been clumsy. All awkward limbs. The continuous fear over him of being reprimanded, disciplined, conditioned, discarded. Clumsy, awkward gait. The need to fit in. Fit in. Fitting inside the box labeled FN-2187 and he had spent so much time focusing on getting better. Focus. Focusing. Fit in. 

He watched the other troopers from the fringes in the barracks, Zero telling a dirty joke. FN-2187 just... he watches. He doesn’t have anything to say. He watches hands move, the way they look at each other. The movements going so fast. 

Trying to fit in.


End file.
